


Cold

by Castile181



Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-09
Updated: 2016-05-09
Packaged: 2018-06-07 07:44:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,406
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6795301
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Castile181/pseuds/Castile181
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The touch of his hand upon her leg is anything but tentative and yet she is tentative about assigning intentions to this action, perhaps because she doesn’t believe him capable of it and never has.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cold

**Author's Note:**

> Please feel free to leave a comment but I will most likely not be replying to comments on this fic. Nevertheless, your words are appreciated.

The touch of his hand upon her leg is anything but tentative and yet she is tentative about assigning intentions to this action, perhaps because she doesn’t believe him capable of it and never has. 

“You know I’m going to my death,” he whispers, some manic light in his eyes that causes the memory of Annatar’s sneer to flash through her mind. “And I’ve always wanted this. I can’t die without having it just once, without having you.” His lips are at her neck now, his breath hot, hands gathering her golden hair so that he can press his kisses to the skin of her throat.

And she hesitates, an action, or rather inaction, that will later be the seed of her grief, because perhaps if she acted now she would have been able to stop this from happening but as it is she says nothing, her body as still as one of Nerdanel’s statues, not life resembling art, but marble with the semblance of life. In her heart she is still unable to believe him, whom she has known her whole life, to be capable of such a thing. Surely it must be a mistake, a trick of her mind.

“I know you want me,” he says, and his hands are strong on her arms as he pushes her to the ground. “You wanted me once upon a time in Aman and I know you want me still.”

It is only now with him atop her that her body rises from its slumber. “What are you doing?” She asks, but her voice is not as she planned, not the anger, not the strength; instead it sounds fearful, not hers. Her body isn’t hers either. The marble of the floor is cold against her shoulders.

“Celebrimbor stop!” She hisses, but by this time it is too late. It is not until now that she realizes that, though she is strong, the strongest of Noldorin women, he has a physical strength that she does not possess. “Stop it!” She is frantic now but she dares not scream. Celebrían is only a few rooms over and she will not have her daughter witness this. 

“I’m just asking for one time!” Celebrimbor snaps. “Don’t I deserve that after everything?”

“No, no!” She is frantic now, clawing at him, fighting. Perhaps she is unable to break free because she used to wrestle with him when they were young in Aman and he knows all of her moves. It hardly matters. The only thing that is of any consequence is that when she most needs her strength she is unable to avail herself of it. Her own body has betrayed her.

He has already pulled her skirt up and she cannot think of the terror she is about to endure but only of how embarrassed she will be if someone sees and so she does not cry for help. “Please don’t,” she whispers, tears in her eyes, “please don’t, Celebrimbor. Please! I’m a married woman!”

But he is deaf to her entreaties and then she feels him enter her and the world goes silent, swimming in tones of gray. It is only now that she believes this is true. She knows she is crying but she can hear nothing at all, just the depths of the sea, and the thought of Celeborn, Celeborn who loves her, Celeborn who would never do this, Celeborn who will be heartbroken, Celeborn who has endured more than anyone should, Celeborn who may die in the coming siege of Eregion flashes through her mind for an instant. But she cannot allow the thought to endure. She wants no memory of her beloved associated with this coldness in the marble at her back. 

She knows he has torn her and she can feel the stinging pain, the trickle of blood, which Celebrimbor mistakes for wetness, for arousal. He was too eager and she was unready. She tries to turn her head away but his lips are upon hers and that is when she does the unforgiveable thing. That is when she begins to encourage him. Because maybe then he’ll finish more quickly. And this will be over. All she wants is for it to be over.

“Faster,” she chokes out and he moans against her lips but he does not let her go, still pinning her to the floor. And that is the moment when she realizes that all of his justifications were worthless. They were meant for him and him alone, because he knows she doesn’t want this. He knows she didn’t want him in Aman. He knows she doesn’t want him now. Otherwise, why would he still be holding her down? “Give it to me harder,” she whispers. “I need you. I want you!” 

Her words seem to have the intended effect and he grunts with pleasure into her shoulder as his hips jerk into her over and over again. And she makes her final request. “Please,” she whispers, “not inside me.” She can’t bear the thought. Not there. But he does it anyway, shuddering and stroking her hair as he spills himself within her. A macabre mockery of the act that brought Celebrían to life.

He doesn’t need to hold her down anymore. Her will is conquered: which was the reason behind this after all. He has what he wants. He rises, failing to notice the blood on his cock as he tucks himself back into his pants. 

She hears his footsteps echo across the floor on the way to the door but then he pauses and returns. She doesn’t care. If he did it again she wouldn’t care. What is once more? It is like death in that way. It doesn’t matter how it happens or how many times: you’re still dead. 

He bends down and she hears the tinkling sound of metal on the marble floor. “For your troubles,” he says. Then he smiles at her, bending to press a morbidly tender kiss to her forehead. “Thank you Artanis,” he says. “I really needed that.” 

And she is glad that he calls her Artanis. Because that name, Galadriel, the one Celeborn gave, is too beautiful for her now. She doesn’t deserve that name. He doesn’t dally but she doesn’t watch him leave. All she can do is lie there staring at the ceiling. And only one thought runs through her mind.

_This is my life now._

But Celebrían will come for her soon, wondering why she has not yet come to fetch her for dinner. And so she sits up, the pain sharp and stinging between her legs. She wipes away her tears. It is in this moment that she realizes she must bear this burden alone. She _cannot_ tell Celeborn. Consequences are nothing to Celeborn. He does not consider them. Does not entertain them. Her husband is a man who subsists on the power of his will alone. No dam can stand before a river in raging flood, nor do consequences stand against the savage ferocity of Celeborn's will. And Celeborn would will Celebrimbor dead. Celeborn would string him up before all their counselors. Celeborn would gut him, would leave him trussed up like a deer, disembowled, a kill on display. And Celeborn, who has no regard for consequences, would be killed as a result. This is a Noldorin city. He is a Sinda. And he's done nothing to endear himself to them. Quite the opposite. Celeborn would not care if they killed him. But she would. If she's going to survive _this_ then she needs Celeborn alive. And that means Celeborn can _never_ know.

Her palms are still cold from the marble and so she presses them to her eyes. The cold will make the swelling go away, the swelling caused by tears. When she opens her eyes again she sees what he has left behind: a silver ring glimmering with clear crystal. 

She knows what it is. She knows it is a ring of power, one of the three, and she stares at it dispassionately. An hour ago she would have desired this. Now it is a thing of necessity. Because now she knows she is not strong. And this is the only thing that can give her the strength to pretend as if nothing is the matter. 

She picks it up and slides it onto her finger.  
And then she rises and goes to fetch Celebrían for dinner.


End file.
